


hold [and keep you safe]

by onefootonego (startingXI)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Multi, TW: Panic Attacks, TW: Past Sexual Assault, this is not light or fluffy in any way, tw: mention of past child abuse, tw: not wholly graphic discussion of past sexual assault but pretty damn close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 20:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16415111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startingXI/pseuds/onefootonego
Summary: there was a time, a lifetime ago now, where your spine was not made of steel. your words would waver in the dark and once upon that time you were in a darker place, a dangerous place and –and oh how you learned the hard way that there are monsters in the dark.





	hold [and keep you safe]

**Author's Note:**

> guys, i plead with you to heed the tags. 
> 
> this is not a light and fluffy fic. this is not something to be read when you're looking for a pick me up. this involves the discussion and the reliving the memories of past sexual assault. there will, in the authors note at the end, but a discussion about why i chose to write this piece.

there was a time, a lifetime ago now, where your spine was not made of steel. your words would waver in the dark and once upon that time you were in a darker place, a dangerous place and – 

and oh how you learned the hard way that there are monsters in the dark. 

*

you have distinct memories of the night in question but none of them are tangible in a way that make the scars you carry easy to describe. there was the press of wood against your back and lips at your neck, sucking and biting and making you oh so aware of the vulnerability of doing _that_ in public. you don’t remember her face, but you remember how bright the stars were in the sky that night. 

these are the words that, in one form or another, slip past your lips the first time you attempt to explain to lucy why you’re so haunted. you are aware of the furrow in her brow and the way she’s stopped breathing. you know her hands are itching to reach out and take yours. you know what you are trying to disclose is a sticky and complicated thing. it is the skeleton in your closet that you’ve pushed all the way back. by now, with lucy, you have pulled out all the rest. 

already have you spoken of getting shot in gotham by your own partner. 

already have you shown lucy all that remains of your father and his belt. 

already have you exposed so much of your fractured pieces that on some level you did not expect this shattered memory to be so difficult to share. it seems to curl into your lungs, refusing to release its hold. the more you try and explain what clarity you have on what happened, the more difficult it becomes for you to find the right words. 

your knees are pulled close to your chest and your arms are wrapped around your shins. you are choking back tears before you realise they have started, and the sweeping panic starts in stomach and explodes outward until no more can you speak. no more can you find the words. you are choking on the indescribable sensations remembered from a half-conscious blur. stumbling into the bed and not remembering how your clothes were pulled from you are smeared across your vision with ever more present clarity. you are not speaking. you are unable. instead, 

lucy is kneeling in front you. 

lucy’s fingertips are resting, feather-light, across the bones of your feet. she is talking in soft, shapeless words. she is endlessly patient with you. she does not chastise as you press your forehead into the curves of your knees and take great rattling breaths. perhaps this, beyond any words you could share, is a far better explanation of what was taken from you that night. 

you have words for the aching soreness and the sickly feeling that consumed you from the inside out, but you cannot share them now. you can barely hold on to the reality of your couch and the fact that you are safe. it is lucy who tethers you, who keeps you from shattering completely. she waits, not touching you beyond the most minimal of contact, instead, letting her words ground you. 

you are crying fully by the time you can understand lucy’s words and what she’s asking. 

_”can i touch you? can i hold you mags?”_

words spoken with such gentle and boundless patience that when you’re finally able to nod and reach for her with shaking hands, her warmth is a balm. her arms around you are a salve. she is pulling you close and she is murmuring words you’re far more able to understand 

“it’s okay.” she says, and “i’ve got you.” and you can hear the tears in her voice. part of you is keenly aware of the reaction lucy is having, the way she’s holding you close and letting you cry, all the while so close to the tipping point herself.

time passes in a manner of which you are unaware. it could be minutes, it could be hours. from the safe harbour of lucy’s arms the world spins endlessly on, and for once, you do not care. 

“i love you.” lucy murmurs in your ear “i love you so much.” 

you press yourself against her, still far from the point where words will come easily. instead, you let the rhythm of her breathing and the thrum of her heart buoy you. her words curl around you, giving distance between you and the haunting and the near overwhelming desire to be sick.

“just breathe.” lucy continues “can you do that for me? i think you can. i think it’ll help.” 

you know she’s right. 

you also know that there is an aching in your legs and hips and this curled up position you’ve found yourself in, driven by the desire to be small, has passed. you keep an arm around lucy’s body, unwilling to leave the sanctuary of her hold, but unfurl yourself one limb at a time. you place your feet on the hardwood floor and will yourself to take a deeper breath. 

“there you go.” lucy coaxes, her hand skating up and down the curve of your back “just keep doing that.” she tells you, punctuating the sentence with gentle a kiss to your temple. 

you nod, unable to find words that express the depth of your gratitude. yet you know lucy doesn’t need to hear them to understand what you wish you could say. actions replace words – the tangle of your hand in hers, the way you press a delicate kiss to her collarbone. they all say what words you can not find. 

“thank you,” lucy says, finally, eventually, when you have settled and the pair of you are laid out on the couch, two bodies interwoven “for being brave. for telling me.” 

“i didn’t-“ you start, so keenly aware of the gaping hole in your night where the story should have been. 

lucy cuts you off ever so gently “you did.” she promises. 

“okay.” you nod, unable to mask a yawn before returning with a thanks of your own “for being here.” you explain “for listening.” 

“always.” lucy says, her hand carding through your hair. 

and really, that should have been the last of it. 

*

you explain, in an abridged version of events, your aversion to contact with your neck when alex enters the picture. you see the fury in her eyes and the questions on the tip of her tongue. yet as your first breath wavers she melts, she is pulling you into her arms and steadying you against the rising of an old yet familiar storm.

lucy is there too, steady and strong and masking the simmering anger that burns in her heart at the thought of someone reducing you to this. 

yet the storm inside you passes, they stay, you are endlessly in love 

and again, 

that should have been the last of it. 

*

except those nights where you bore yourself for your lovers are not the last of it. instead, the universe has a different plan for you and it manifests in the worst of ways. 

*

“so tell me,” alex is saying to lucy between mouthfuls of pancakes, “why you thought it was a good idea to encourage kara to get another cat.” 

lucy just shrugs “streaky gets lonely.” 

“streaky,” alex counters “is the devil and therefore can never get lonely.” 

you, who are working on the biggest kansas city omelette you’ve ever seen finally decide to chime in “streaky needs company. he gets lonely. maybe having domino around will help lighten his mood.” 

alex looks grumbly and not at all convinced that kara being the provider for yet another maine coon cat is going to do anything to change streaky’s current attitude. instead, she sighs, relents and says “it’s a good thing you know where kara keeps her spare key, because next time she asks me to feed them, you can go.” 

you laugh and are sure lucy is coming up with a witty response pertaining to how it’s not exactly a burden to go over and play with two cats that love her. you’re sure the conversation is carrying on, but it will have to go on without you because the world seems to have slowed and fear has injected itself directly into your heart. 

your mouth has gone dry, your pulse has skyrocketed and you are feeling more ill than you care to admit in the moment. this is not like seeing a murderer, this is not like seem the blank, empty eyes of an alien slaughtering sociopath. no, seeing your ex, seeing the woman who caused you so much trauma, is worse. far, far worse.

“mags?” alex voice cuts through the roaring in your ears “maggie are you okay?” 

you are blinking and trying to move your gaze away from the woman who’s walking over to the bar, but you can’t. there is something terrifyingly captivating about her presence in this moment. she looks the same as she did all those years ago, as if she’s walked out from one of you biology labs and straight into your brunch date. she’s got the snapback and the denim jacket. she’s got the skinny jeans and the high tops and you’re not breathing. 

you blink. 

you look away. 

you’re still not breathing. 

you’re pushing it down, forcing yourself to remember all the other moments in your life that have been far scarier than this. all those times you have stared death and torture in the face and never wavered. yet this, this chance encounter has your legs shaking and your stomach twisting and you want to run. 

need to run. 

a hand curls around your wrist lightly “maggie,” and this is lucy’s voice “maggie where are you?” 

you swallow hard, you know you’re at sanctum, the new brunch place you’ve been wanting to try for months. you know you’re with lucy and alex and that means you’re safe. but you also know that the ghost from your nightmares is standing just across the room and that leaves you petrified. it leaves a rushing in your ears and memories surfacing that you didn’t know you remembered. 

hands at your waist, fumbling with your belt.

the sudden cool of her bedroom against your legs, your cunt. the way you’re unsteady on your feet as you stagger out of your jeans. 

there’s the sound of the harness sliding up bare legs, the thwump of the strap-on against the leg of her desk. 

what’s worse, the universe isn’t done with you yet. there’s the way the music quiets for a moment, the lull of the other patrons hits a low and all that’s left is the sound of her voice, her 

"yeah, can i get a tall americano and a blueberry muffin?” 

cutting across the room. 

it’s not the order that gets you. 

it’s her voice. it’s the way you’re taken back to a different time, a darker time. her words in your ear 

_”you feel so good like this.”_

and your face is buried in a pillow, your chest pressing into the bed as she takes you from behind. her hips slapping against your ass as she fucks your cunt. 

“i can’t.” are the first words you say “i can’t. i can’t. i-“ 

it’s lucy’s voice cutting across your fear “you don’t have to.” she says “just breathe. tell me what you can see.” 

some part of you registers alex’s standing, the way she’s moving across the bar – taking care of the bill you think. you wonder if she knows who’s standing so close to. 

somehow you doubt it because no violence breaks out. 

not that you would notice if it did. you’re too busy trying to work the floor into focus. 

your elbows are pressing into your knees and you’re gripping at the collar of your leather jacket. it’s not comfortable, but the jacket is solid and the edge of the button pressing into your hand is uncomfortable and grounding. 

“i see our food.” you say quietly, with a broken voice “my plate. your glass. i see you.” 

“that’s so good.” lucy encourages “i’m right here. what else do you see?” 

“your jacket, with the stain on the lapel.” the cage around your ribs is losing its hold, your heart lessens its hammering against your ribs “the plant in the corner.” 

“good.” lucy murmurs and you hear footsteps indicating alex’s return “do you feel like you can make it out of here?” 

you nod quickly. 

god yes. 

you want too, need to. 

so you do. 

*

it’s not until you’re home that the world starts to be less fuzzy.

in all honesty you’re not sure how you got here, to the couch. you don’t remember walking back. did you walk back? or was it a cab? you don’t know. you’re not sure. 

you don’t remember taking your shoes off or sitting on the couch.

yet you’re here. 

sitting. 

breathing with your eyes screwed shut because all you can remember are the worst parts of your life. worse than the belt against your back and the freezing cold of the valentines night walk to your tia’s house. worse than those memories are the ones flooding you now. the ones you remembered. the ones you didn’t. mixing and mingling and choking you. 

you feel dirty. you feel lost. 

you –

“hey pretty lady,” comes alex’s voice, the nickname she uses only with you bringing comfort, easing tension “do you know where you are?” 

you reach for her, taking one of alex’s hands and gripping it “yeah.” you say “yeah, we’re home. we’re at home.” 

alex nods, tucking a stray hair behind one of your ears “we are.” she confirms “do you want to talk about what happened?” 

and you know the option to say no is there. you know that if you said you'd rather just climb into bed and sleep, that they would let you. a conversation will happen, but only when you feel ready.

which, right now, 

“i need a shower," you say quietly. 

alex kisses your temple “okay.” she says “you feel up to that now?” 

you shake your head because you still feel delicate and shattered. you just want, 

you just need,

a moment. 

“can we,” you look around slowly, wanting lucy here too “just sit. for a minute.”   
you have taught each other how to ask for what you need and you have never been more glad because you need them right now. you need their presence and their strength and – 

“i’m here.” lucy reassures, slipping into the space on the other side of you on the couch “i’m right here.” 

you take a steadying breath and allow yourself the calm of the moment. 

“can you talk?” you ask “about anything? i just,” you shake your head “i want to hear your voices.” 

you want to forget the sound of her voice. you want to eliminate the memories it sprung forth. you want to listen to lucy and alex list all the other pets kara has ever declared that she wants. you want to listen to them list the upcoming movies they want to go see. 

you want and they, knowing you and loving you as they do, 

provide. 

and they keep providing. 

they talk about work and about the new bike lucy’s had her eye on. they talk about taking time off for a week to go out on the road, just the three of you. 

they talk until you feel back in your body and you can say softly “is it okay if i shower?” 

to which alex’s immediate reply is “of course.” 

and lucy is saying “i’ll get you clothes.” 

and you’re left wondering how on earth you got so lucky. 

*

by the time you return from the shower, they are seated on the couch still, but this time lucy has a mug of tea in hand and alex has juice. there’s a mug of tea for you as well, steam curling into the air as you approach. 

you let out a long breath and sit down between them, feeling how they immediately curl into you. 

“i-“ you start, stop, shake your head. 

you were going to apologise, it’s habit. yet you’re learning not to apologise for your trauma. 

“she walked into the restaurant," you say quietly and at long last.

“she?” lucy asks. 

you wish they know, you wish they could see into your mind and know who you mean, but – 

“my ex.” you say “who,” you swallow hard “you know.” 

they do. 

you close your eyes, feeling the tightness in your chest return. 

“i didn’t know what to do.” you explain “i froze. i-“ you shake your head “i never thought i’d see her again.” 

“honey,” lucy says quietly “it’s okay to freeze.” 

“i just,” you pause again, it’s still difficult to talk about it, even now “seeing her it brought back so much.” you force a breath “things i didn’t, i didn’t think i remembered.” 

“do you want to talk about them?” alex asks 

“no,” you reply “no, i –“ you pause, you swallow hard “i want to curl up and forget them.” 

“you should text your therapist.” lucy suggests softly “make an appointment for monday.” 

you know that’s a good idea, you know it will help in the future. but right now, 

right now you take a shuddering breath “i didn’t know what she’d done was wrong. not at first.” you’re explaining this to the coffee table because it’s easier than looking either of them in the eye “i just thought,” you don’t know what you thought, not really “i don’t know.” you settle on “it didn’t feel okay but,” you trail off “she was my partner right? so…” you remember all the ways you tried to justify it. 

“but it was wrong.” lucy says gently. 

“yeah.” you nod “i couldn’t, i was too drunk.” 

“you couldn’t consent.” alex says in the way that reminds you she knows what that’s like, to have a state of inebriation used against you, taken advantage of. 

“that.” you nod. 

“and seeing her,” you explain “it just, it brought everything back. how dirty i felt and for the longest time i couldn’t place it. i-” you’re voice is shaking, you are shaking “everything i felt then, i feel now.” 

“and that’s okay.” lucy reassures “there’s nothing wrong with how you’re feeling now. you’re allowed to feel everything you feel now.” 

“i just want,” you take a steep breath “i just want to stay here with you two and watch movies.” you tell them “i – is that okay?” 

“of course.” alex promises. 

“i know we had plans.” you point out. 

“our plans can change.” lucy says. 

“movies then.” you say “please.” 

lucy tangles her hand with yours and alex encourages you to lean against her. 

the memories ebb and flow in the back of your mind, but that’s okay. they will pass, they will once again fade into the distant parts of you, present, but not accounted for. not controlling. just part of your past, like so many other pieces. 

**

**Author's Note:**

> so, i chose to write this piece because a number of years ago i was sexually assaulted by a person i was then dating. it happened around this time of year and the memories have been heavy on my mind recently. this story pulls details from my own experience and as such, is far more personal to me than any of the other i've written. i'll be honest, the idea of posting it, for everyone to read, terrifies me. 
> 
> which is why i'm posting it. 
> 
> to the people who have read through it already and reassured me that the trauma being discussed does not overshadow the characters themselves, thank you. 
> 
> i am on tumblr at 4beit where my inbox is always open if people need to talk.


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